Outlaw Mountain

patrolling Oak Vista Estates. Since he was perfectly capable of handling the situation, there was no need for Joanna’s added presence. Not only that, after spending two days on the road, there was plenty of work for her to catch up on.

She had labored in peace for the better part of an hour and felt that she was starting to make some real progress when the phone rang. “Yes, Kristin. What is it?”

“Someone to see you, Sheriff Brady. She says her name’s Monroe. Jessie Monroe. She wants to talk to you about her sister.”

“Who’s her sister?”

“Alice Rogers,” Kristin answered.

With a swipe of her arm, Joanna cleared the remaining clutter of paperwork from her desk. “Show her in,” she said.

The woman Kristin ushered into her office was a stooped, bird-boned woman who leaned almost bent double on a walker. She was tiny and frail, but the piercing eyes she focused on Joanna were sharp and uncompromising. “Sheriff Brady?” she said, peering out crookedly from under a permanently ducked head.

“I’m Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “What can I do for you?” “You’re in charge here?”

“And you’re investigating my sister’s death-Alice Rogers’ death?”

“I’m not doing that personally,” Joanna said. “I have two detectives who are handling the case.”

“I suppose they’ve already spoken to that worthless niece and nephew of mine.”

“Susan Jenkins and Clete Rogers?” Joanna said. “Yes, they’ve both been spoken to, but I doubt they’ve been interviewed in much detail so far. It’s still too early in the investigation for that.”

“But you will be talking to them.”

“My detectives will.”

“Well, then,” Jessie Monroe said. “I want you to give them a piece of my mind.”

Jessie’s walker had what looked like a bicycle basket attached between the two handles. At that point, Jessie reached into the basket, pulled out a clothbound book and dropped it onto Joanna’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“What does it look like?” Jessie demanded. “It’s a book.”

Joanna picked it up and examined the cover. “My Life and Times,” it said. “By Alice Monroe Rogers.”

“Your sister wrote this?” Joanna asked.

Jessie Monroe nodded. “Paid good money to have it printed, too. She wanted people to know about her, about who she really was. I watch all those programs on TV,” Jessie continued. “You know the ones-’Law and Order’ and all those other things they call police dramas. It seems to me, the dead people never get to tell their side of the story. The people in authority only learn what the people who are left want to tell them, which may or may not be the truth. I wanted someone to know what Alice thought instead of hearing what her kids think she thought. There’s a big difference, you know. A big difference.”

“Won’t you please sit down,” Joanna said, motioning Jessie Monroe toward one of the captain’s chairs on the far side of her desk. “Would you care for something to drink? Coffee? A soda?”

“A glass of water would be nice. I am feeling a bit parched.”

Joanna summoned Kristin and asked her to bring water. Then she turned back to her guest. “You don’t sound particularly fond of your niece and nephew.”

“Fond? Absolutely not. They’re both next thing to worthless. Cletus never amounted to a hill of beans. How he ever got himself elected mayor is more than I’ll ever know. Susan always drank like a fish. Still does, as far as I know. And then she went and married that long-haired freak who sells cars out in Sierra Vista. Have you ever seen him?”

“I’ve met him,” Joanna said.

“He doesn’t do a thing for me,” Jessie Monroe announced. “Thinks he’s something of a ladies’ man-like that weird guy who does all those margarine commercials on TV. Stringy hair all the way down to his shoulders. Girl’s hair. Twice as long as Susan’s. Wears it in a ponytail some of the time. For the most part, it just hangs loose around his ears. One of those guys with a Custer complex.”

“Custer?” Joanna asked.

“General George Armstrong Custer. Except I don’t suppose he ever wore earrings,” Jessie sniffed. “Ross Jenkins does, you know. Two or three to an ear.”

Kristin came in with water. Jessie took the glass, emptied it with several long unladylike gulps, and then handed it back. “Thank you,” she said. “Much obliged. Now, then, to get back to Alice. She was the baby of the family. I’m the oldest. Eleven years difference between us. But even with the age difference, we were always friends and I always looked out for her. Some of my brothers and sisters I can pretty much take or leave, but Alice and I were good friends. You know what I mean?”

Joanna nodded. “I think so,” she said.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Jessie Monroe’s eyes misted with tears. She groped in her pocket and found a hankie. “You’ll have to excuse me. I still haven’t quite accepted the idea that she’s gone. I always assumed I’d be the one who’d go first, you see. Anyway, Susan called me this morning. She’s the ‘full of business’ one in the family. She called to let me know what had happened. She said Alice had been killed up near Tucson. She said the authorities seem to think some young Mexican boys did it, although Susan seems to have her own ideas on that score.”

“Hispanic boys,” Joanna corrected. “They’re from Tucson, not Mexico. And yes, that is the theory the Pima County investigators are working on at the moment-that they’re the ones responsible for your sister’s death.”

Jessie blew her nose. “Well,” she announced, “Susan doesn’t believe that, and I don’t either. Not for a minute. If Alice has been murdered-and that’s the word Susan used, she said murdered-then that’s where I’d start looking for her killer, if I were you. Right there in Alice’s own backyard, as it were. You know what they say. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ and all that? Well, it’s true. Clete and Susan are two of a kind that way. I wouldn’t trust either one of them any further than I can throw them.”

“When did you last see your sister, Mrs. Monroe?”

“Miss,” Jessie corrected. “I’m the old maid of the family. And the last time I saw Alice was about three months ago, when she came down to Douglas to show off that new beaus of hers. Seemed like a nice enough chap to me. And I could see he thought the world of her, too, opening and closing doors for her, helping her in and out of chairs. A regular gentleman. You don’t see too many of those around anymore. Nope, they’re scarce as hen’s teeth.”

“Farley Adams?” Joanna asked.

“Alice’s beau? That’s right. Farley Adams was his name. Is his name. I should imagine he’ll be devastated, losing her so soon after like this. It’s a tragedy-a terrible tragedy, and, as I said before, I’m sure those selfish kids of hers are behind it one way or the other.”

“You said, ‘losing her so soon after,’ Miss Monroe,” Joanna put in. “So soon after what? What exactly did you mean by that?”

Jessie Monroe heaved a sigh and then fumbled a black satchel-sized purse out of the basket on her walker. Once she snapped it open, she spent several long minutes sorting through the contents. At last she withdrew a stiff piece of paper-a postcard-which she handed over to Joanna. It was addressed to Jessie Monroe c/o Golden Agers Home and Convalescent Center, 816 G Avenue, Douglas, Arizona. To the left of the address was a neatly written note: “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here. Love, Ali.”

The picture side of the card showed a smiling couple posing inside an enormous heart-shaped wreath of flowers. The woman was holding a small bouquet. The man wore a suit complete with a boutonniere. The caption at the bottom of the picture said: “Greetings from Mr. and Mrs. Farley Adams. Laughlin Chapel of Love. Specializing in Weddings to Go. All-inclusive.”

“Didn’t they make a handsome couple, though?” Jessie Monroe was saying. “Alice was always the prettiest little thing. And she managed to keep her looks, even if she didn’t keep her own teeth.”

Holding the picture, Joanna was painfully aware that Jessie’s “handsome” wedding portrait was actually a study in motive. If Farley Adams and Alice Rogers were already married at the time of her death, Farley would have a good deal to gain from his wife’s death. Even without a rewritten will, he would have been able to go against an existing one, demanding his spousal share of Alice’s estate. The fact that Farley was Alice’s husband bumped Susan Jenkins and Clete Rogers down a notch on the list of suspects. Had they been able to prevent the marriage, the